


Sex and Taxes

by obstinatrix



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, F/M, Gratuitous Smut, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-06 16:35:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3141317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obstinatrix/pseuds/obstinatrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having spent the better part of a year in the offices of Westchester Tax and Finance Office, Charles was fairly sure he knew what to expect from their so-called office 'party'. Unfortunately, he hadn't counted on Mr Lehnsherr's after-work persona being quite so different from his professional one. And he hadn't factored in Emma at all; which, in retrospect, was a mistake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sex and Taxes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seutedeern](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seutedeern/gifts).



> This was prompted by a request from my darling Seutedeern, but it spiralled way out of control from her initial suggestion. Still, I'm going to dedicate it to her anyway: happy birthday, Tini, have some porn. :D

Having spent the better part of a year in the offices of Westchester Tax and Finance Office, Charles was fairly sure he knew what to expect from their so-called holiday 'party'. It wasn't as if any child dreamed of growing up to be an accountant, but even by the standards of Charles's previous place of employment, this one was dull -- all lined-up desks and bespectacled people glowering intently at their computer screens, the only sound the clicking of keys. Most of it, Charles was fairly certain, had to do with the rather overbearing team leader, Lehnsherr, whose stern, laconic manner and stormy eyebrows brooked no argument. Working in this office was pretty much akin to what Charles might have expected of a morgue. Except, he thought dourly, morgue assistants probably had more fun. At least they had those cool body-drawers to play with. 

In retrospect, maybe it should have occurred to Charles that nobody could live in caged conditions all year and _not_ leap upon the chance to relax when it came. As he approached the cafeteria, the dull thud of music from inside did little to raise his expectations; it wasn't until he opened the doors and the wave of noise truly hit him that he started to realise. This was not the anticipated quiet gathering. This was _madness_. 

God only knew how long the rest of them had been here. Charles blinked, wide-eyed, at the drinks table, most of the bottles already opened. Conversation was in full flow, everybody giggling and whooping in the dark room, lit only by the muted glow of fairy lights. If Charles had ever been asked (under duress) to imagine his colleagues when they let their hair down, he almost certainly wouldn't have described them as being quite so very fond of alcohol. 

"Charles!" 

He'd barely made it two steps into the room before somebody flung an arm around his neck, body a tipsy dead weight. It took him a moment to recognise the strange giggling person as his deskmate, Moira, usually the epitome of gravitas. 

"Um," Charles said, eloquently. "Bit wild in here, isn't it?" 

Moira giggled in his ear and straightened up. "Oh, you haven't seen _anything_ yet, Charlie-boy. "We do parties _right_." 

"And Lehnsherr?" Something was niggling at the back of Charles's mind; as he looked around, he realised this was it. What the hell was Lehnsherr going to say when he saw all this? "Do you do all this because he never shows up to cramp your style, or what?" 

That sent Moira into gales of laughter that only stopped when she pressed a hand to her mouth and took a deep, steadying breath. "Are you kidding me? He _lives_ for this shindig. You'd never guess he was such a good dancer, would you?" 

She pointed. Charles followed the line of her arm, and his eyes widened at what he saw. In the middle of the room, a gaggle of people were wiggling around to whatever thumping dance tune was playing; Charles couldn't quite make it out, but the tall, slender man in black, hips gyrating sinuously to the music, almost looked like -- surely not -- 

"In his element," Moira said, clapping Charles on the shoulder. "Now, you need to catch up, Charles. Let me make you a strong one." 

Moira's definition of strong was -- well. Okay, so it was really _really_ strong. Charles almost choked on the first sip of the concoction she presented him with, but Moira only slapped him between the shoulderblades and told him to man up. 

"I promise you," she said, "you will not survive this party sober. Believe me." 

The look on her face was so severe that Charles chugged the rest of the drink in one go, and then poured out another under her intent scrutiny. 

"More," she said, lifting his elbow, and Charles obligingly let another few glugs of vodka slosh into the cup before he put the bottle down. 

Charles wasn't exactly a big drinker. By the time he was halfway through his second drink, the first one was catching up to him, and the sticky floors and headache-inducing beat in the room had started to become less intolerable. In fact, it was almost pleasant, and he could feel a smile starting up on his face as he surveyed his normally staid colleagues grooving around to Ke$ha. In the midst of the melee, the lanky figure of Erik Lehnsherr stood out, his shirt stretched across his broad shoulders as he waved his hands to the music. Not that Charles was paying especial attention to his shoulders, or anything. He didn't even _like_ Lehnsherr, from what little he'd seen of him in the time he'd worked under him. 

_Ha. Under him_ , said a voice in Charles's mind. Charles silenced it firmly with another sip of his toxic brew. 

No, really. It was just that Lehnsherr was usually so dour, so quiet, so self-contained. And to see him like this -- not devoting even the tiniest iota of energy to containing any part of himself (and those pants were certainly struggling to contain his ass) -- it was...intriguing. He'd never really thought of his boss in this light before. Objectively, of course, he'd known the guy was handsome, but that was a completely different thing to seeing him all loose and happy, grin all teeth as he tossed his head, sweat glistening in the open collar of his shirt…

Fuck. Charles was clearly under the influence. The only thing for it was to get another drink. 

Three shots of vodka later, Charles had somehow lost his jacket and acquired a pair of reindeer antlers, presumably at the expense of his dignity. The room was inexplicably fuller than it had been before, and Charles was dimly aware that Emma Frost, Erik's right-hand woman, was a hell of a lot closer to his arse than any woman had been since high school. 

"Relax, sugar," she breathed in his ear, as if sensing his discomfort. One slender hand settled itself on his hip, and yes, okay, she knew how to move, the motion of her body hypnotic, almost soothing. "Just dance, all right?" 

Something in her tone was compelling; she wasn't senior management for nothing. Closing his eyes, Charles let himself sink into the movement, rotating his hips in time with hers, smiling as she laughed in his ear. After a while, he was so caught up in it that the new voice in his other ear took him completely by surprise. 

"Where'd you get so good at that, Xavier? A trust-fund baby like you shouldn't have had to put himself through college by...creative means." 

Charles's eyes shot open. He'd know that voice anywhere, although usually it was more of a bark and less of a low purr. Beside him, Lehnsherr was grinning, wide and predatory. Charles almost thought the smile was more frightening than his usual steady frown. 

"Creative...means?" He probably sounded like an idiot. He was pretty sure he was stammering a little, but Lehnsherr's face was _very_ close to his, and something about it was mesmerising. 

"You know what I mean," Lehnsherr said, and rolled his hips in slow demonstration. Charles felt the blood rush to his face, and he didn't think he was imagining the way Lehnsherr's grin widened. 

"Mr Lehnsherr --" 

"Charles, honestly." Charles had _never_ seen his boss like this, all loose and smirking, all up in Charles's personal space. A moment later, one of those big ( _huge_ , jesus god) hands was on Charles's hip, and Lehnsherr exchanged a look with Emma over Charles's shoulder as he leaned in and breathed in Charles's ear, "Call me Erik." 

There was no stopping the shiver that rippled down Charles's spine at that. It was all very well to blame the proximity, the natural response to the tingling vibrato of Erik's voice so close to his ear, but it was more than that, he knew, and the thought filled him with a dull sense of foreboding. Lehnsherr -- _Erik_ \-- had always been so distant, such a quiet authoritarian figure, but even from across the office, Charles had never been blind to his charms. It would have been impossible: Charles had a distinct sense of appreciation for the masculine form, after all, and Erik's form was -- well -- practically perfect in every way. The man looked like he'd been born to model for Armani, and now he was -- fuck -- was he _dancing on Charles?_ Frantically, Charles glanced around for Emma, but she was already on her way across the dance floor, pausing only to flick him a tiny wave as the crowd swallowed her up. 

"C'mon, Charles," Erik said, that indefinable accent in Charles's ear. "I know you've got moves, don't turn into a shrinking violet now." 

_Fuck_. 

If, two hours previously, Charles had actually paused to really consider how he'd be spending this evening, 'grinding against my ridiculously hot boss in the middle of the cafeteria' would probably not have featured on the list. And yet, here they were, Erik somehow having insinuated himself between Charles's back and the rather tipsy woman behind them, long fingers curling over the jut of Charles's hipbone. And, Christ, Charles had known that Erik was packing -- anyone with _eyes_ could see that -- but it was quite a different thing to actually _feel_ it like this, the unmistakable bulge of Erik's heavy half-hard junk pressed up against Charles's ass. 

There were no two ways about it: he was going to die. He was going to mortify himself by developing an erection that could probably be seen from _space_ , and then he was going to die of lack of blood to the brain. 

This was not how the work Christmas party was supposed to be going. 

Erik, however, seemed to have other ideas. 

"Come on, Xavier." Charles could _hear_ the grin in his voice, and Erik was manipulating him with two hands, now, the lazy motions of his hips to the music prompting Charles's to follow along. He had to admit, it was easier just to give into it than to resist. Erik's breath was warm on his neck, his body long and overheated and firm, and Charles couldn't be blamed if his dick was taking an interest when it had really been a while and Erik was so…

"Here." 

Well, apparently Erik was pushing a drink into Charles's hand, was what Erik was doing. God only knew where it had come from, but Erik had Ways. Dimly, Charles became aware that there was another glass of something in Erik's other hand, waving loftily around by Charles's face, and when Erik let a little of it dribble into the open neck of Charles's shirt, he took it as an accident until Erik murmured, "Oops," in a tone that sounded not even the least apologetic. 

And then leaned in and sucked it off. 

The sound Charles made was quite the opposite of dignified, but then, he wasn't really sure how much of a part 'dignity' had to play in this evening at all. Erik's fingers tightened purposefully on Charles's hips, and his mouth was hot and slow, laving the hollow of Charles's throat and the dip of his collarbone, and _fuck_ , Charles could feel him swelling. He felt, as his hand flew down to grip Erik's wrist, that he was entitled to a squeak or two. 

"There." Erik's voice dripped smugness. Charles opened his mouth, hopeful that _something_ sensible would come out, at which point Erik actually fucking _blew on the damp patch_ like a guy in a cheesy porno, and goddamn him, of course if _anyone_ could pull that off, it was this smooth operator. 

Needless to say, nothing sensible came out of Charles's mouth. 

"Well, look at _this_." 

Emma, of course, materialising at the worst (best?) possible moment like the serene goddess she was (and possibly, _definitely_ Charles had had too much to drink. Somehow the glass in his hand was empty again). 

"You boys look like you're enjoying yourselves." She was smirking; Charles had the distinct feeling that a wordless conversation was going on over his head. Unfortunately, Erik chose that moment to lean in and mouth at Charles's neck again, which really -- didn't -- make conversation easy at all. 

Especially not with the way Erik was grinding himself against Charles's ass, erection well on its way to its full monstrous proportions, from what Charles could tell. His voice was unfairly level when he took one hand from Charles's hip and held it out to Emma, murmuring, "Dance with us?" 

And shit, the next thing Charles knew, she was laughing, wriggling closer through the press of the crowd, and then Charles had Emma Frost and her capacious bosom flush against his chest, and Erik Lehnsherr's ridiculous enormowang practically riding his ass, and Charles would be panicking about the PR nightmare if he wasn't suddenly sure he must be dreaming. 

"Nice moves, sugar." She winked at him, her neatly-manicured hands covering Erik's on his hips. Charles had wondered before what the relationship was between Emma and their boss; when she leaned across Charles's shoulder to bite at Erik's lower lip, it didn't do much to clear up matters. 

Mostly because Erik only groaned and started to rub himself against Charles with purpose while his tongue was busy in Emma's mouth, the soft wet sound of it _right_ by Charles's ear. 

"Anyway." Emma pulled back, patted Charles softly on the cheek. "I'll leave you boys to it, shall I?" 

Charles was too dazed to do anything but nod. 

He should have known, as Emma strode with purpose towards the front of the room, that he wasn't going to get away that lightly. Emma had always reminded him somewhat of an unspeakably beautiful white cat, serene and aloof and more than a little devious. As she tapped her fork pointedly against her wine glass (and how did Emma have an actual glass, anyway?) the hubbub in the room died down a little. 

"What's she doing?" Charles hissed, his eyes narrowing. 

"Wait and see." Erik's voice was exactly as smug as Emma's expression, and Charles felt, with a sudden sinking feeling, that whatever this was, they'd cooked it up between them. 

And yet, with Erik's arms around his waist, his back against Erik's strong chest, he couldn't exactly remember why that was a bad thing. Ordinarily, when Erik and Emma were plotting in the boardroom, they were strategising some new approach to preventing tax fraud; this, at least, seemed entirely more interesting. 

"Ladies and gentlemen," Emma said, the corner of her mouth quirking as she surveyed the assembled crowd, "I thought we could play a game." 

Which was how Charles ended up in the copy room with his trousers around his knees and his dick on the Xerox machine. 

To be fair, Erik _had_ gone first. Charles knew this, because Erik had started disentangling his (still sizeable) erection from his boxers before he'd actually gone into the copy room, and Charles had found himself unable to look away. When Erik came back out with his flies refastened and his photocopy in hand, Charles couldn't help thinking that there really wasn't much point in Erik taking part in this ridiculous guessing game. Nobody could be in any doubt whose monster _that_ was. 

"Something tells me," Charles grumbled, pink-cheeked, as he emerged with his own (inferior) copy, "that Emma has an ulterior motive for this." 

Erik only wiggled his eyebrows. "Now now, Charles. Let's give Logan some privacy while he makes his copy, shall we?" 

The photocopies, naturally, ended up in Emma's capable hands. Once they were all spread neatly on the table, the giggling hordes lost no time in converging to ogle them. Charles found, to his bemusement, that he couldn't actually identify which one was his, which at least reassured him that he must be perfectly average. 

As he'd anticipated, everybody guessed Erik's on the first try. 

At some point, when the hooting and giggling had died down, Charles decided it was possibly time to risk a bathroom break. He was starting to sober up, and Erik was talking to Janos; perhaps he ought to think about making an escape. 

"That was the most ridiculous thing I've ever done at work," he muttered under his breath, as he fought his way out of the room and into the corridor. 

"Is that so, sugar?" 

He'd been so concentrated on shoving through the crowd that Emma's voice took him completely by surprise. He didn't know when she'd slipped out, but there she was, every inch the white goddess, leaning casually against the wall. Charles blinked. "I --" 

"I think," Erik said -- and now there was all that lean warm muscle against Charles's back again, the heady scent of Erik's skin -- "we could all do with a little more ridiculous behaviour." His eyes met Emma's, and the smile they shared was nothing short of predatory. "Don't you?" 

Realisation hit Charles like a blow, like a punch to the gut that made him lose his breath. He'd had his suspicions with Erik before, but this -- his eyes flickered between them, Emma casually self-possessed, tendrils of her blonde hair artfully escaping from her ponytail, and Erik, one eyebrow raised as he smirked over Charles's shoulder. 

If they were offering what he thought (could hardly _believe_ ) they were, then -- he wanted to take them up on it. That much he knew. Arousal buzzed through his every nerve, and his mouth was dry. But, "Should we…?" 

"Oh, Charles." Emma's finger beneath his chin, this time, tipping it up, and of course she was taller than he was, of _course_ there was no part of this interaction in which Charles could possibly have the upper hand. 

He wasn't sure why that thrilled him the way it did. 

"We," Erik said, pressing his lips gently to Charles's pulse-point, "don't really do 'should', Charles. Especially not at holiday parties." 

The next thing Charles knew, Erik's big hand was under his jaw, tipping his head back, and Erik's mouth was on his, hot and clever and fierce. _Demanding_ , and all at once Charles was even more grateful for Erik's solidity at his back, holding him up. When Erik released him, he'd barely managed to gasp a breath before Emma was on him, her pink-painted mouth just as fierce. It had been a while since Charles had kissed a woman, and the contrast of her lips with Erik's made him shiver, the scritch of Erik's stubble giving way to the pristine smoothness of Emma's skin. 

"So," Emma said, "My place isn't far. Shall we?" 

She held out her hand. Charles, to his own surprise, didn't wait a beat before he took it. 

The cab ride was a blur. Erik and Emma were both tall, lean, athletic people; apparently they found it not remotely difficult to manhandle Charles between them out of the office building and onto the sidewalk. The first cab they saw stopped for Erik's outstretched hand, as if he had some kind of magnetic compulsion over it, and a moment later, Charles found himself crushed between the other two on the back seat. 

"Well," Erik said, setting his big hand on Charles's thigh, "this is cosy." 

"Isn't it," said Emma, and mirrored Erik's gesture from the opposite side. 

Charles swallowed. Anticipation twisted in his gut, a heady mixture of lust and apprehension, and Emma smirked at him as if she were reading his mind. 

Emma's apartment was pale and elegant, like its owner. As they stumbled through the front door, Charles had time to note the white walls and sleek chrome accents before Erik took him by the shoulders and Charles forgot everything but the intense blue eyes that met his. 

"Are you ready for this?" Erik said. There was no pretence, now; that was long gone. Erik's pupils were wide with want, broad chest shifting with his breaths, and when Charles risked a downward glance, he could see the line of the perfectly-pressed trousers slightly distended by Erik's cock. _Erik's cock_. Charles thought of the photocopy and shivered. 

"Let's find out," he said. 

Erik's kiss this time was all-consuming. It had been fierce before, but this time Erik was kissing with intent, and Charles felt it all the way down to his toes. One hand cradled Charles's jaw possessively, angling his head the way Erik wanted it, and when Erik's tongue slid against his, Charles groaned, clutched at Erik's shirt. Erik pulled back, nipped at his lower lip, then pressed in again, their tongues meeting wetly between their mouths, and suddenly Charles felt he could hardly stand. 

"Gorgeous," Emma said, and Charles was both surprised and gratified to hear the slight flicker in her voice that betrayed her. Her hand was cool on the back of his neck, and he shivered as she thumbed at his pulsepoint, feather-light touches dragging over sensitive skin. "Too many clothes, though, don't you think?" 

"Absolutely." Erik's voice was rougher now, his lips flushed, and when his hands went to his tie -- those stupid, perfect hands, long-fingered and deft, unpicking the knot -- Charles could barely bite back a groan. 

"I --" he began, but Emma shushed him, mouthed at the arch of his eyebrow as her hands went to his buttons. 

"Let me, sugar. Erik and I have been wondering what's under those clothes since your first day in the office." 

That wasn't the sort of comment Charles had been expecting, and the bluntness of it made his head spin. "Seriously?" 

Emma's fingers paused. "You have no idea, do you?" She leaned in, and her breath was hot on the helix of his ear. "We thought you'd make a perfect little fucktoy, Charles Xavier." 

This time, the groan couldn't be repressed. Charles was hot all over, disbelieving, and Emma took the opportunity to divest him of his garments item by item, her lips at his throat, mouthing at the underside of his ear. When she scraped her teeth across the tendon, Charles cried out, clutched at her, and only when her hand settled on the small of his back did he realise he was naked already. 

"There," she said, stroking her fingers through his hair. "Now...bedroom, I think." 

Charles didn't -- couldn't -- look at Erik as she led them there. He was aware of him, the power of his presence behind them; Erik who could have been a fucking underwear model, all long lean lines and golden skin and that fucking _cock_ , Jesus. He couldn't resist a glance at that as Emma closed the door, and she laughed, low and pleased. 

"The eighth wonder of the world," she said, and then, "I want to see you suck it. You want to, don't you, Charles?" 

He wanted to argue, really he did. He wanted to defend his honour, but unfortunately his traitorous body was more interested in falling to its knees, a gesture of clear submission; and then he was eye-level with Erik's hips and that was the end of any hope Charles might have had of recovering his dignity. 

Still, there was dignity, and then there was this: the strong curve of Erik's dick, jutting outward from its thatch of dark hair, the bared slit glistening. The scent of it, of Erik, was thick in Charles's throat, making his cheeks cramp with want, and when he leaned in, curled his hand around the base, Erik hissed through his teeth, shivering. 

"Charles," Erik said. His voice was thready, more hesitant than Charles had ever heard it, and that only stoked the heat, made Charles crave the sounds Erik might make if he squeezed a little -- like this -- or kissed Erik's shaft with dry lips -- like this -- and when he let his lips part, let his tongue trace the underside of Erik's cock. 

"Charles, God --" Erik's hands fisted in Charles's hair, and that was what he'd been waiting for; the way Erik jerked him forcibly forward till the crown of his dick nudged at Charles's lips; and Emma's soft voice: "Come on, Charles, _suck_ , there's a good boy." 

There was iron in her voice, and it struck Charles all at once that if Erik was quiet, it wasn't because he wasn't enjoying this, the sensation of Charles's lips catching on the slick head of his cock, but because the orders, in this room, weren't his to give. The thought made Charles shiver, tongue flickering out to wet his lower lip, and Erik's breath hitched, his fingers flexing against Charles's scalp, his cock impossibly thick and close and real. Charles took a deep breath, and let himself give in to the push in Emma's soft demand. 

He'd always loved this, the sensation of silk-hot skin over iron as he closed his lips around a cock, squeezing his eyes shut at the same time. The thick taste of Erik burst welcome across his tongue and he groaned, licked at the head, rubbing his tongue slickly along the pronounced ridge until Erik jerked and shivered beneath him. Erik's hands clenched reflexively, sliding down to cup Charles's face, and Charles angled himself on an impulse to shove Erik's cockhead into the softness of his cheek, let Erik rub his thumb over the jut of it.

"Oh," Erik breathed, and Charles could feel the hard twitch of his cock that said he wanted to say more, wanted to come apart in Charles's mouth. A second later, there was a half-formed word, as if Erik meant to say something, but a sudden impulse made Charles want to cut him off, keep Erik for once at his mercy. He breathed in sharply through his nose, then shoved down, relaxing his muscles to let Erik's cock slide all the way in, right into the hot clutch of his throat. Erik moaned, and that was encouragement enough to help Charles hold it there, suppressing his panic reflexes until the spit was flooding his mouth and he had to, _had_ to come up for air. 

When he ventured a glance upward, Erik looked wrecked already, a flush spreading up over his cheeks, and Charles bit his lip, ducked his head again. His eyes watered, jaw already aching with the stretch, but it was a good burn, the sense of being filled up with Erik like this, of fucking his mouth onto Erik's cock until his ears were tingling with the pressure and the need to breathe. This time, when Charles pulled off, Erik's grip on his skull meant business, the strong clever hands pulling Charles down again until the strokes blurred into a rhythm, Erik fucking Charles's face in fierce helpless thrusts. He was so hard, pulsing against Charles's tongue; it was all Charles could do at this point to hang on, fingers digging into Erik's narrow hips while Erik panted above him, choked out moans and trembling thighs and this would all be over soon, if Charles was any judge; Erik pulsing thick into the clutch of his throat and God he wanted it, he wanted -- 

"Enough, I think." The sharp twist of Emma's fingers in his hair made Charles whimper, even as his head snapped back, throat arching, Erik's cock slipping wetly from his mouth. Charles whined, low in his throat, and couldn't even muster any shame about it, not with Erik strung out and panting above him, cock glistening with Charles's spit, so close, so _close_ \-- 

As if she were reading his mind, Emma laughed softly, smoothed Charles's hair down gently where she'd pulled it. "You're too good at that, Charles; we don't want to wear Erik out before we've even begun, now, do we?" 

Hesitantly, Charles met Erik's eyes. Erik had sunk onto the bed now, thighs trembling, and his pupils were blown black. Minutely, Erik's head moved, a tiny gesture of support, and Charles swallowed hard. 

"No," he said, and stood on shaking legs. "Not -- not yet." 

"That's my boy." Emma's mouth was hot on the back of Charles's neck, feather-light. "I knew you'd be perfect for this." 

She pushed; taken by surprise, Charles stumbled forwards, bracing his hands on the edge of the mattress. Beside him, Erik was still breathing heavily, but he managed a smile; tugged at Charles's wrist in wordless entreaty until they were both ensconced on the enormous bed. This close, Charles could feel the heat of Erik's body radiating all down one side; the fresh thick tang of new sweat on his body. The fine hair on one long thigh glinted in the soft light, and Charles couldn't help but lay his palm there, a wondering touch that made Erik shiver. 

"Initiative," Emma said, amused. Her eyes met Charles's, held as she stepped forward, slotted herself in between Erik's knees. "I like that. Erik?" 

For a moment, Charles thought she intended Erik to comment, but then her arms slipped around his neck and Erik's around her waist, and he understood. The zipper purred its way down the back of her dress under Erik's fingers, and when it pooled at her feet, Erik whimpered softly, let her guide him forward with a hand on the back of his neck. Her eyes were still firm on Charles's, even as Erik fumbled for the catch of her bra, cupped her soft breasts in his hands. Her head tilted back, lips parting just slightly, and Charles felt himself pulse with heat in a way he'd rarely felt because of a woman. 

But then, this wasn't _a woman_. This was Emma, straightbacked and imperious even in her underwear, and Erik thumbing at her pebbled nipples, rubbing his open mouth against the soft swell of her breasts. It was them, this, the whole of it; the sensation of being trapped and at their mercy and the way Emma watched him, hot eyed and knowing, even as Erik's tongue flickered over her nipple with practised urgency. Despite himself, Charles couldn't tear his eyes away. 

"He's good with his tongue," she told Charles, her tone conversational as she twisted her fingers in Erik's hair. "I bet you'd like to see for yourself, wouldn't you?" She tugged, and Erik moaned in response, muffled against her skin. Charles's mouth was dry. 

"Anything," he managed, and Emma's smile turned feral. 

"Anything," she echoed, and laughed. For a long moment, she seemed to be considering, and then her hands slipped out of Erik's hair, pushed at his shoulders, and her eyes dropped to his dazed face. "On your back, Erik, darling, if you will." 

Charles didn't know what he'd expected, but somehow, it hadn't been this. Everything Emma did was unexpected; something about her unpredictability made Charles's skin feel too tight, his cock throbbing insistently between his thighs. But Erik seemed to take every order as writ. Obligingly, he scooted up onto the mattress and spread himself out, all long golden limbs and sharp angles, his own slick shimmering in the dip of his navel. His thighs were loosely parted, and Charles felt suddenly overcome with the urge to shoulder them apart, to lick at the shadowed place between, but Emma's hands were on him, now, tracing the length of his spine, cupping his jaw to angle his face towards her. 

"Sugar," she whispered, hot against the shell of his ear, "you'd like to ride that big cock, wouldn't you?" A flick of her tongue, and Charles's mind seemed to white out, but Emma was relentless. "Because let me tell you, you'd look so pretty fucking yourself on it. I think you should get yourself ready. For me." 

A jolt of something darkly hot flickered through Charles's gut. "For you?" 

She looked at him for a second before she laughed against his neck, her breath hot against his skin. "Maybe you read me better than I thought, Charles. Sometimes I give it to Erik like that." Her hand slid up the sensitive inside of Erik's thighs, brushed at his balls. "He likes that, don't you, Erik?" Her fingers wrapped lightly around Erik's cock, and Erik shuddered, hips lifting reflexively. 

"Yes," he panted, and Charles almost groaned at the thought of it, Emma's delicate hand on Erik's huge cock, his no-nonsense boss completely undone by this girl and her iron will. But then Emma's lips were on Charles's jaw, tracing a warm path to his ear. 

"Maybe one day I'll give you _my_ cock, sugar, but right now you'll have to make do with Erik's. Now --" and she reached for the nightstand, pushed a familiar tube into Charles's hand -- "do what you're told, and get yourself ready." 

Her tone brooked no argument, and something about that, anyway, was thrilling; made Charles swallow hard as he squirted lube over his fingers, spread his thighs. She smiled at him. 

"That's it," she said, nipping at his ear just hard enough to make him jerk. "Keep going." 

He'd worried that she meant to watch; worried that she didn't, and couldn't quite decide which outcome he preferred, but a moment later, the choice was taken from him. Erik was trembling finely, hands flexing on the coverlet, but Emma's movements were sure as she surged up and on top of him, settling her full weight on the stiff curve of his dick. 

"Emma, fuck --" Erik's voice was rough, hissed through his teeth. His hands flew to Emma's waist, and she allowed it the way Charles was sure she would not have done if it had been him; let Erik grind himself up against her and groan brokenly at the feel of her, hot through damp cotton. It was mesmerising, watching the two of them like this, and Charles's breath quickened despite himself as his body allowed first one finger, and then two, to breach it. Even Emma's calm was wearing thin now, her mouth half open and her back arched sinuously as he rubbed herself against Erik, and Erik was whimpering, biting his lip as he moved. 

"Please," someone said, and it took Charles a moment to realise it was him, working himself frantically now, fucking himself in time with Erik's aborted thrusts. "Can I --" 

"Yes," Emma breathed, and then she was shifting and Erik was groaning in protest and Charles was on him before he could think, Erik's big hands immediately on Charles's hips and the head of him nudging between Charles's legs, finally, _finally_. 

There was just so fucking much of Erik; Charles had never felt so much, so much inside him as he pushed down, gasping as Erik slid home. When he opened his eyes, Erik was smiling up at him, and Charles wanted nothing more than to move, to fuck himself on Erik's cock, to ride them both to a quick orgasm. 

But...Emma. 

At the head of the bed, she was naked now, glorious with it, thighs parted and her wetness glistening between. Her fingers threaded into Erik's hair, and Erik arched his neck, looked up at her upside down. She cupped his jaw, smiled at Charles. 

"Patience, Charlie." Her cheeks were flushed, but there was no hesitancy in her as she lowered herself, a tease at first, touching herself to Erik's tongue. They both groaned at that, and Charles felt his cock jump, watching it, Erik wild-eyed and wanting her, the way his tongue traced her slit when she lowered herself again, the way he keened when she drew away. His fingers on Charles's hips were white-knuckled, as if he didn't know what he wanted more; as if he wanted all of it, and as much of it as he could get. 

"Erik…" Emma's hands were firm on the headboard, but this time, as she settled herself, Erik surged up, tongued at her firm and flat and she cried out, a sound of defeat. "Yes -- God --" 

That was it, more than Charles could take. The first thrust of his hips was involuntary, but the heat it sparked in him was deep and overdue and there was nothing Charles could do to stop his body from chasing it. Emma, after all, didn't look to be fit for giving orders. One of Erik's arms had come up to wrap around her thigh, holding her open against him, and in the state he was in, Charles couldn't help but stare at the way Erik's tongue flickered wetly against her, the way his throat rippled with his moans. She was gorgeous; Erik was gorgeous with his face smeared with her slick, and it was an unconscious imperative for Charles to grind himself down on Erik's cock the way Emma was grinding her clit against his face. There was sweat in the dip of Charles's spine, precome drooling from his cock, and he screwed his eyes shut, flattened both hands over Erik's heart and let himself give in. 

Braced like this, it was easy. The leverage was better, letting him lift and lower himself on Erik's cock, and he could feel the reaction of Erik's body to the change, could feel Erik's hips lifting into Charles's thrusts until they were rocking together frantically, Charles's cries muffled in Erik's neck and Erik's in the heat of Emma's cunt. When Emma's hand tangled in Charles's hair, the pull of it tore down his spine like a riptide, and he groaned, hips jackknifing; bit at Erik's nipple as the wave surged up through him and he came, hard and sudden and spasming around Erik's cock. 

"Ohfuck --" Erik's head fell back, his face contorted with need. Charles could feel it when he started to come, the impulse building in him slowly and then harder. Emma was panting brokenly above them, clit slick and swollen, and Charles reached for her impulsively, rubbed two fingers hard over the nub while Erik tensed up and came. 

"Like that?" Charles heard himself saying, his eyes still on Erik's face and his heart thundering in his chest. "Like that, is it, am I --" 

"Inside," Emma gritted out, both hands white-knuckled on the headboard now and her hips jerking against Charles's hand, "inside, fuck me; _Erik_ \--" and she jerked at his hair, forced his mouth back up and ground herself against it. 

She came silently, but there was no mistaking it. It made Charles's breath catch all over again, feeling the ripple of her muscles impossibly tight around his fingers, the way her body shook as Erik caught her clit between his lips and sucked, hard. Her thighs were trembling around Erik's face, and the moment it was over, she fell sideways like a puppet with cut strings, slumped against Charles's shoulder. 

"That," Erik said, his voice strangled, "was --" 

"Yeah," Charles said, dazed. His ears were ringing. "It was…" 

"Yeah," said Emma weakly. 

Slowly, and with much manoeuvring and groaning, they managed to shift themselves until they were all splayed out more or less with their heads on the pillows, Erik in the middle with an arm around Charles and Emma both. His heart was still thudding steadily under Charles's ear, and Charles felt the unreality of the situation begin to dissolve a little as his breath slowed. Here he was, in bed with his boss, and his boss's -- _something_ \-- and this may have been the most exciting night he'd had in recent memory, but still…

"Charles," Emma said sharply, cutting off his train of thought, "I can hear you worrying. There's no time for that here." 

Erik laughed softly, carded his fingers through Charles's hair. "You heard the lady. You're not worried about things being awkward at work, are you?" 

Charles swallowed, rubbed his face against Erik's chest. "Well," he began lamely, his voice muffled by Erik's warm skin. Erik's hand, warm on the back of his skull, squeezed a little. 

"We can keep secrets," he pointed out. "I think we'd like to keep this one for a while, if you'd be amenable." 

Charles blinked. His thighs were still burning; he could still feel the fat weight of Erik inside of him, and Emma was looking at him now across Erik's chest, her eyes wide and almost hopeful. This wasn't exactly professional, but then...that ship had long since sailed. 

Charles cleared his throat. "What are you two doing next week?"


End file.
